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by a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Morally Ambiguous Character, Self Loathing, Self-Harm, Stalking, ambiguous self or domestic injury, no actual rape, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words/pseuds/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words
Summary: It only takes a little bit of desire to get two manipulators going, and it’s not clear whose desire it is, or even what they wanted.Damien wants Mark to want to rescue him, to forgive him, to take him back. And Mark has no idea what he wants. Damien is loitering outside of the apartment where Mark is sleeping, manipulating even the contents of his dreams, although he wouldn’t know it. And now, he’s about to get what he wants - or what somebody wants - and what exactly is that?Not a fix-it but a make-things-a-bit-better.





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It took Mark at least a week to figure out that Damien had got his power back, and was back in town. In fact, he had no idea how long.

The problem was that it was never unusual for him to wake with dreams of Damien fading from his grasp. That first night, when he ate himself to sleep because Joan wouldn’t let him drink himself there, he lay awake for hours, agonising over what he’d said and the look on Damien’s face. He felt like he imagined it would be to have Caleb’s power, like the agony he must have put Damien through would crush him, caving in his chest and leaving him a husk.

When they’d taken Damien to the AM, his dreams had been filled with torture, with Damien begging not to be made to do things, to himself, to other people - his dream self apparently gave Damien far too much credit, like his waking self apparently also did.

Several times, he’d dreamed that he had been the one Damien was being forced to do things to - that they’d been put in a room and pitted against one another. Other times, he himself had yet to recover his power, and Damien was being forced to... degrade.

The worst dream by far whilst Damien had been at the AM was the one where he was told that Mark was the one who handed him in, who didn’t care enough to prevent the torture he was undergoing. It had been the worst one, because that was the one that he knew to be true. Of course she would have used that against him.

So it was quite expected when, seven months after telling Damien to leave, his dreams had turned back to him. Dreams where he found Damien crying in some dark place, and came to comfort him. Dreams where he picked up the phone and called Damien, just to hear his voicemail. Dreams where he found Damien, and kissed him.

He stopped staying over at Sam’s, because he couldn’t bear the thought that he might say Damien’s name in his sleep. That she might find out. He felt like the guilt would destroy them, destroy him. So he made his excuses and told her he hadn’t been feeling too well and just needed some time to himself to think.

And one night, when he was dreaming one of the more popular variants of rescuing-Damien-from-himself-and-taking-him-home, he simply woke up, and found that the desire to physically get out of bed and find Damien was... overpowering.

In fact, he wanted it so much, to find Damien crying in some dark corner, to tell him he forgave him, that when he stepped outside in his sister’s dressing gown and saw Damien doubled over in the shadow of a doorway across the street, he knew it was his desire that had made Damien cry.

And yet, aware as he was of what must have happened, he couldn’t stop his legs from carrying him over the road.

“You forced me to do this,” he said, his voice almost disgusted as he knelt down beside Damien.

“A- and you forced me to do this,” Damien choked out.

“You chose to come here,” Mark said, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant.

“But, but you want me to cry, you _want_ me to, to feel like this.”

Mark put an arm across his back and pulled Damien to him. “And you want me to do this.”

Damien’s sobs would have woken people in the nearby apartments, except that he wanted them to stay asleep.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begged, clutching at Mark’s clothes as Mark tried to push him back.

“Are you really sorry, or are you apologising because I want you to be sorry?” Mark couldn’t help but say it. Damien wanted him to shout how much he care for him, how he was sorry and how he’d already forgiven him - he could feel it nagging him, like an almost irresistible urge. But only almost. A part of him still wanted Damien to cry, to cry even harder, so he could forgive him.

“I don’t know!” Damien sounded desperate. He usually did, if he couldn’t get his way. Like a toddler denied sweets, the shock of not getting his way immediately was so sudden and unbearable he couldn’t bear it.

“You know, you’d think that all the disappointment and loneliness in your life would have prepared you for unrequited love,” Mark spat, inches from Damien’s face, his the anger bubbling up from nowhere. “Urgh! I know you want me to shout at you! For fucks sake, make your mind up!”

“I’m sorry,” Damien repeated.

“What do you want from me?” Mark hissed, letting go of the embrace and shaking Damien by a fistful of his shirt.

“I want you to be to take out your anger on me until you think I’ve had enough and then to take me back, to let me come home!”

Mark slapped him, and Damien gasped even though he must have known it was coming. Fuck him and the way he made Mark feel, the way Mark no longer knew if Damien had made him want him to cry, or if he’s wanted Damien to want it.

Then the anger began to die away. Damien’s cheek was darkening in the shitty street lighting where Mark’s handprint was visible.

“Even if I did forgive you, _this_ isn’t healthy Damien, for either of us.” He released his grip on Damien’s shirt.

“I’m not healthy wherever I am. I’ve never been healthy _in my life_.” Damien’s desperation softened, like Mark knew it would, into a gentler, sadder form of despair. And like he’d known he would, Mark stood and hauled Damien fo his feet with one hand under each of his arms.

He wasn’t sure under whose power he man handled Damien into Joan’s apartment, but he did it, dumping Damien against the couch while he fetched some ice from the kitchen.

When he turned on the light, Damien looked awful. His cheek was swollen and purple, and there were other scrapes and bruises on him, dark rings around his eyes and grease in his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and he blinked in the dim light of the ikea floor lamp as though the dying bulb was too bright, and the stubble on his cheeks had to have been growing in for at least three days.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark muttered, brushing the greasey strands aside and pressing the kitchen towel filled with ice to fhe handprint standing out against Damien’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Damien said again. “I didn’t mean to come here.”

“Bullshit!” Mark swore, and then kissed him.

Damien tasted like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and self loathing. His chapped lips added a metalic edge to the kiss, and his tears added salt. Neither of them were surprised at it, but the passion lasted only a second.

“Stop,” Damien whispered when Mark broke the kiss.

Instead, he placed the cold compress deliberately down on the coffee table, and pulled Damien to his feet again.

He led him to his room, and because Damien wanted him to want him, he did. Damien wanted him to pull of his shirt, revealing an array of scratches, cuts and scars that hadn’t been there before. Mark inspected them, frowning, until Damien’s shame turned his face away. Damien had wanted him to see them, to know how he’d been punishing himself, but now he couldn’t bear it, how pathetic his own atonement was.

“I don’t want to make you do this!” Damien sobbed.

And because Damien wanted him to want it, he brushed the comment aside, kissing Damien’s unbruised cheek, his neck, his collarbone.

Mark shoved aside Joan’s dressing gown, kicked away his own pyjamas and began to unbuckled Damien’s pants, backing him up against the bed.

Damien grabbed his hand and tried to pry his fingers away. “Please stop. Please stop. I don’t want to make you!”

“I know,” Mark whispered, the words catching in his throat. “But you can’t help yourself.”

Damien clutched at his wrists, but it didn’t stop Mark from undoing his fly and pulling his underwear down with his pants. He dragged Damien’s shoes off with his jeans and pressed him down onto the bed.

Damien’s breaths came in panicked sobs now, as Mark rubbed a hand over his chest and belly. His rib cage heaved and spasmed, and he scrambled back a few inches before the movement brought Mark’s hand too close to his exposed cock.

It was half hard, and Mark couldn’t tell who that was for - who wanted Damien to be aroused. He thought perhaps that it was himself - Damien didn’t really want sex, he just desperately wanted Mark to want him, to be physically close to him.

Mark’s wrist brushed against it, and Damien let out a pained sound.

Mark froze for a moment, his hand hovering so close his fingers could wrap around Damien’s cock without his hand moving an inch.

“Please stop, please stop,” Damien whispered, like a barely audible mantra.

He didn’t want Mark to stop. He didn’t want Mark to continue. He didn’t want to be rejected, but he wanted Mark to really, truly want him. Of course Mark wanted him, because Damien wanted him to. Which was why he had to carry on, to...

Mark screwed his eyes shut and forced his hand down onto the bed on the far side of Damien’s hip. His breath felt like it was coming through a gap just a little too small, his throat felt dry and painful.  
He was about to be forced by Damien to rape Damien, because Damien was desperate to avoid raping Mark. The irony would have made him laugh, if it hadn’t already made both of them cry.

Damien tried to curl away, tears streaking his face, but there was nowhere for him to go.

The arousal, weird, forced, pulsing, began to ebb away, as Mark watched Damien cry through his own blurred vision.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Damien choked.

“I know.” Mark let himself collapse against the bed and against Damien’s shoulder. He let himself kiss away one of Damien’s tears before Damien turned his face away.

“I don’t want to make you want me,” Damien continued. “I just... I...”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. But Mark wanted to make it that way.

“It’s not okay. I’m not okay. You’re not okay. This isn’t...” Damien’s chest heaved. “I don’t want... I’m not... I don’t want to rape you, or anybody.”

“You didn’t.” Mark was glad he couldn’t see Damien’s face.

“I basically just did. I kidnapped you, abused you, and when you told me to get out of your life, I came back and I raped you. I raped you. I didn’t finish it, but-“

“Shut up!” Mark grimaced. “Shut up, for God’s sake!”

“I’m even-“ Damien began, before Mark’s will overpowered the muscles in his mouth.

“Shut up. You’ll stay here overnight, we’ll both want Joanie to sleep in, and you’ll get yourself together and leave first thing in the morning.” Marked told him, ignoring the tightness in his lungs. “We can’t do this. Damien.”

Damien’s chest heaved, but he said nothing, at least, he didn’t say any words. When Mark looked up, his face was a picture of agony.

“But, maybe if you can promise to stay away from Joanie and the others, and to stop turning up at our apartment in the middle of the night, we could still... be friends.”

“You won’t want that once I’m gone,” Damien managed to whisper.

“Ah Damien, how I’ve spent these last few months wishing that were true.”

“What?” Damien asked. “You mean-“

“Don’t push your luck Damien. We can meet up for coffee or something every week or two.”  
But since they were already there, Mark allowed himself to kiss Damien’s jaw one more time, before he pulled the covers over them. And because he’d willed it, Damien was already asleep before Mark was done settling the duvet.


End file.
